In the Eye of the Hurricane
by Lady of Pride
Summary: The Riddler’s arrival in Gotham City has sparked the interest of Arkham’s inmates. The Joker and Jonathan Crane feel it’s only fair that they throw him a proper welcoming party... -no slash-
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Before I start, I just want to tip my hand to _Lauralot_ for inspiring me to hunker down and write this. If you want to read something awesome (containing the Joker and Crane, of course) just pop over to her page and you won't be disappointed.

Now, as for the story...

Title: In the Eye of the Hurricane – Chapter one  
Author: ladyofpride  
Characters: Joker, Scarecrow/Crane and the Riddler. Batman will be mentioned (and will make appearances) as the story progresses, though he isn't the focus of the story.  
Rating: Pg-17 (if such a thing exists)  
Timeframe: follows after the second movie  
Warnings: violence, obvious insanity and the death of innocent (or not-so-innocent) bystanders...after all, this is about the Joker...  
Disclaimer: I'm not making a profit off of this—nor do I have the desire to either. I'm just playing in someone else's sandbox.  
Summary: It's true what they say. Sanity can only last so long...

The guards are agitated; the youngest of the three flinches away from him when they brush shoulders in the hall. The kid's got guts but not enough to deal with the nuts in Arkham's house—he avoids making eye contact with the Joker, more for the sake of his sanity than anything else, and does this fidgety little thing with his fingers as they near the criminal's cell. The other guards are almost stoic; solemn. They shove their latest inmate inside and lock the door. Nothing much penetrates them nowadays and they have the atmosphere of the asylum to thank for that, for getting them to believe they're impenetrable; invincible.

Arrogance is beast that bites the hardest.

It's going to take more than a door to keep him in.

He hums, deep in his throat, testing the acoustics of the padded room as he wanders over to the 'bed' in the corner. The buckles of the straightjacket bite into his back as he lies down but it's a little nuisance he's willing to put up with for the time being. Everything can be dealt with—Aristotle would know: every man can find happiness in doing _anything_ only so long as he does it for the sole sake of doing it.

It's true. He knows. The Joker is the kind of guy that acts on impulse.

The Bat could concede to that.

But the Bat is busy cleaning up the ashes. Joker knows the vigilante has his work cut out for him with the unfinished business of the not-so-_pristine_ White Knight of Gotham City—the news channels say it all. They show a pretty face—a _whole_ face—that smiles humbly at the audience from the portrait of a dead man...The city's true savour scrambles to save the city in the backdrop, a regular menace to society. He wonders if the Bat really _does_ want Gotham to hate him.

The Batman's written his tragedy and handed it to the public.

They'll eat him alive.

Gotham is a vicious city—and he's not referring to the crooks. It's the people Joker's worried about. It's the people that dictate what's right and what's wrong. After all, the French government was overthrown by a body of students...

It's terrifying what a mob can do. Amazing.

Ab_-_so-_lute_-ly amazing.

He loves the people. Really, he does. Without the people, where would he find his anarchy?

He licks his lips. The make-up's gone but he can deal with that. He just can't help but wonder how _impenetrable_ Arkham Asylum and her guards _really_ are...

There's a sound down the hall, where the door is open and someone is being escorted to another floor. It's a short, brisk laugh. Professional. And unprofessional. It's from someone up _there_ that's taken the risk of staring too long into the abyss down _here_ where all the oddities gather. It's answered with a moan from another prisoner.

It starts a chain reaction. They're all moaning and cursing by time the guard arrives but the Joker can't understand what their matter is.

Laughter is, after all, the best medicine.

-1-Joker-1-

The doctor's a _good_ doctor (or so he's told) but she doesn't smile and she wears too much perfume. Her hair is pulled back in a tight, strictly-business bun and she stares at him over the rims of her crooked glasses with the look of a child examining a new insect through a magnifying glass.

She asks him how he's feeling today.

But it doesn't matter how he's feeling—it only matters how _she's_ feeling. Everyone sees the world through their own special lens and _she'll_ see what she _wants_ to see depending on her mood today. And doctors are moody people. Believe him. They expect to make miracles and brood when they don't.

And then they scheme.

_Her_ scheme is to cure him.

It's not a clever scheme but (alas) to each his own. He sits and nods and tries to look vaguely interested in what she's saying. Her left eye twitches twice when she pauses to write something down and he wonders whether it's habitual or if there's something wrong with her face.

She doesn't look too pleased when he imitates her.

...Must be her face, then.

She cuts their session short on the basis that this is just an _'introduction'_ and to give him time to think over her questions. No rush. She has all the time in the world to work on him and he has all the time in the world to watch her try.

Prison really is a happy place.

Two guards come to escort him out—but not the pup from before. The kid is hiding somewhere. Somewhere small. The Joker knows they'll meet again.

Arkham is only _so_ big.

...It _really is_ only so big.

In the hall he sees a man, though he can't be sure if it is, _in fact_, a man...Arkham has a slightly skewed definition of what a _'man'_ is.

He's tall and gangly. Nearsighted. He glances down the hall but his eyes don't focus on anything aside from motion, flickering to another guard as security waltzes toward a frantic patient. There's a certain darkness around those eyes that boasts of either exhaustion or the tail-end of a nasty head injury, and a certain darkness _in_ those eyes that brags a wicked cocktail of hatred and ingenuity.

He's the kind of guy the Joker wouldn't mind having a chat with.

The man in question shrugs his shoulders to relieve the tension there and strains his neck to one side, stretching, as the only female guard the Joker's seen so far grabs a straitjacket-clad arm and leads the stranger away. But not before said stranger glances back at _him_. The look speaks volumes on the scale of a challenge but there's a bit of recognition in it too.

This would be _Dr. _Jonathan Crane, the man from _before_, the one _'at large'_ when the Joker found the love of his life in the wonderful Miss Gotham. He looks different. A little _ill_.

He looks ready to dance to a new tune.

And there's a curl at the corner of his lips, that kind of _'ah-ha—I knew it!'_ sort of smirk the Joker usually finds on the face of someone decidedly smug. Either that or someone with a plan.

...Crane _could_ be a 'planning' kind of guy but he's been in the nuthouse for a while now and he's had the _privilege _of enjoying the whole Arkham experience on both sides of the glass wall. If there ever was a man in the world that had lost his mind, the Joker would place his bet on him.

Even though some would be bold enough to call _him_ crazy...

The Joker waves, just lifts his hand a little and gives it a small _friendly_ shake. Crane doesn't catch it—the tart little guard on his left has already shoved him into the room—but the men on either side of him do and he catches the wary side-glance they exchange with one another before escorting him to his cell.

It's the first crack on the glass, a glance at the ground before they fall. Invincibility really only lasts _so_ long.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen...

-2-Joker-2-

The powers that be can't decide whether his wave was just an instance of insanity or a sign of the apocalypse. His _therapist_, doctor what's-her-name, suggests that he and the 'Crane' remain separate from each other until either of the two show improvement in their sessions. Most of Arkham can't decide if they knew each other from before or if they were somehow communicating with plans of an escape.

Crane doesn't say a thing—"_Mum's the word_", so to speak.

Smart man.

The Joker doesn't need to scheme—everyone else will do it for him. They argue and debate, set up boundaries and guidelines to quell any escape before the end of step one, and really—that's fine with him. You can't break into a joint without a layout of the place and you can't _get_ the layout until someone's written it up for you. That's logic in one of its purist forms.

He's really starting to like this place.

So he sits in his sessions and nods at random times in what's-her-name's little speech. He's not sure if she thinks he's making any improvements (he doesn't actually give her what _she_ deems a 'straight answer') but Crane must be because security doesn't fret when one of the valves in the good doctor's hall bursts, flooding almost the entirety of the second floor. Several of the inmates freak out (as is their nature) and three of the lucky gents are moved up to the fifth floor with the Joker and his merry band of lunatics.

Crane is one of them.

The guards are hesitant to lock the infamous Scarecrow in with any of the other inmates. John 1 and John 2 are stuffed into the same cell near the emergency stairwell and Crane is shoved into the room two doors adjacent to his own. What a delight. The guards shut off the lights and warn everyone against disturbing the peace.

As if _peace_ actually exists in Arkham.

He knows a bad joke when he hears it.

"_It's cold..."_ one of the old folks moans. He's prone to do that every second or so night but John 1 (or is it John 2?) is none the wiser.

"Oh, would you _shut __**up**_..."

"_It's cold..."  
_

"Who _cares_?_"_

Joker smiles.

The crazy rises to the bait, as he always does when someone eggs him on, and continues his mantra until the newcomer is just about tearing the hair from his head. Sooner or later the guards will drop by and they'll put an end to tonight's entertainment.

Another voice starts up but this one is familiar to him. It's the laugh from his first night in the asylum.

"Be kind," Crane chastises in an almost sing-song voice, "We are, after all, guests."

John 1 falls silent. The Joker wonders if the man's been cowed by Crane's sudden interference or if he's just gathering the balls to say something in return.

"Well...what are _you_ going to do about it?"

"Oranges and lemons," Crane replies.

"_What_?"

Crane clears his voice and then recites... _"Here comes a candle to light you to bed, here comes a chopper to chop off your head—'chip chop, chip chop,' the last man's dead._" (1)

"...That's not funny."

"It isn't?" Crane sounds entirely too amused for his own good. The Joker is entranced, "Well then, why don't we talk about it..."

And they do.

Until John can't breathe anymore.

-3-Joker-3-

The guards, apparently, aren't fans of suicide.

John 1 is found a few minutes after his already traumatized roommate starts howling at the moon like a man on fire. At least the crazy has the decency to wait until _after_ his companion is cold and dead before sounding the alarm. The torn pillow case is still wound tightly around his neck as the guards unlock the door and barge inside. They're disgusted.

Nobody mentions Crane.

The man has the voice of an angel...Maybe a fallen angel. It's smooth. Seductive. Crane doesn't waste any time getting to the point and it takes him less than five minutes to drive the man over the edge. It's commendable—means that the good doctor doesn't need his fear toxin to get the job done.

The inmates of the fifth floor are scared stiff.

Joker giggles.

At first, the powers that be suspect _him_. They're wary enough keep Crane in the corner of their eyes but never openly ask anyone on their floor about him. They ask about the Joker. Only the Joker. After all, Crane's the one that's making an _'improvement'_.

But it isn't him and they have no reason to keep him in detention. After a couple of weeks, he's allowed into the recreational room with tight supervision—they take him at a time when no one else is expected to be in there and he's stuck with the just television for company. Gotham's still enamoured with him. They speak of his past indecencies often—up until another crazy dons a costume and starts parading across the city. They call him the Riddler. He leaves riddles.

Go figure.

They show a picture of a young man—late twenties probably. His hair is auburn, brushed forward, cut short, and the next photo the newscaster flashes at the audience is a dim shot of the kid with a domino mask and a bowler hat.

It`s blurry but his slick business suit looks green. That's about all the security cameras at the bank can catch of him before something causes them to blow. Nevertheless, the Joker's intrigued—he knows Crane will be too. They should throw him a welcoming part.

Once they get out of Arkham, of course.

Whoever said the Joker wasn't a generous guy?

A/N: I wanted to put down a limit for how long the story will be but I'm actually not sure about the length. In any case, I hope you enjoyed the first installation. Only leave a comment if you feel like it; I don't mind not getting reviews. On the other hand, if you think something is wrong (especially if you think the Joker's OOC) just slap me and I'll try to remedy the problem.

(1) These are the last three lines from the nursery rhyme "Oranges and Lemons". The rhyme touches down on the executions at Newgate Prison which commenced after the tolling of the bells (at nine o'clock on Monday morning). Apparently, at one point or another in the vast comic universe, Crane supposedly recited such little rhymes when they suited the mood of his current heist. Additionally, Crane also managed to talk a couple of inmates into committing suicide when he was in Arkham. I just decided to play off of these ideas.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I apologize for the delay on this one. Both chapters were written before I decided to post the story on this site but the second file was playing hard-to-get (heh). The posting pace will be steady from here on out.

By the way, thanks for the wonderful reviews. I hope you all continue to enjoy the story.

Title: In the Eye of the Hurricane – Chapter two  
Characters: Joker, Scarecrow/Crane and the Riddler. Batman will be mentioned (and will make appearances) as the story progresses, though he isn't the focus of the story.  
Rating: Pg-17 (if such a thing exists)  
Timeframe: follows after the second movie  
Warnings: violence, obvious insanity and the death of innocent (or not-so-innocent) bystanders...after all, this is about the Joker...  
Disclaimer: I'm not making a profit off of this—nor do I have the desire to either. I'm just playing in someone else's sandbox.  
Summary: It's true what they say. Sanity can only last so long...

The infliction of _pain_ is vile thing.

...

...That's what the shrink says.

He can't even begin to fathom where she came up with the idea—people and pain are like bread and butter. Bonnie and Clyde. Self-mutilation is a natural part of everyday life—it's been the biggest thing since...since the discovery of the wheel. Even sooner. Sooner than fire...maybe...but that's not the point.

The point is—_everyone's_ doing it.

She jots something down on her notepad, chews her bottom lip and doesn't try to hide the twitch in her left eye. She gave up on denial about a month ago. Good girl. It's the first step in the healing process.

Treading carefully, she asks him what's on his mind today. The institute is practically ecstatic that he hasn't tried to break out yet but it baffles them to no end why he hasn't made any _progress_ in his sessions. He's not surprised. Timing is everything.

If you're gonna leave, might as well do it with a bang.

For now...well, he just sits back and watches as the proverbial wall begins to crumble. It all starts with a crack. A tick; easily ignored. If not for humanity's curiosity, nobody would notice it. Nobody would be _picking_ at it.

_But_ (as history often dictates) human nature gets the best of everyone and they worry the tear a little bigger...Prod the wound, so to speak, until an infection sets in. He doesn't have to lift a finger.

Neither does Crane.

They meet (_'officially'_) for the first time since his arrest in the rec-room. The good doctor is on his way out, a guard standing vigilant on either side, but then he lingers in the doorway to watch the news. He looks vaguely interested with the anchorman's rant—riveted, almost, if not for the apathetic expression drawn across his face. He's been busy lately, sending the guards mixed messages; they can never tell what kind of mood he's in.

It's another article on the Riddler...

They've both been wondering (—and he _knows_ Crane's been thinking about it; _'it'_ being the metaphorical elephant sitting in the corner—) how many of these crazies the Batman can take before he joins the old Arkham gang for breakfast. It doesn't matter if the man has the patience of a saint—if you pitch yourself headfirst off a mountainside you're bound to hit something sooner or later.

Gravity tops courage any day.

Crane looks as though he wants to see the end of the report. The guards wait. One turns as though to re-enter the room—but then Crane's already started down the hall.

The guard almost trips trying to correct himself mid-step.

The Joker watches as he leans against the wall for support. It's the kid. He knew they'd meet again. It was written in the stars. The poor fellow hasn't seen him yet but the Joker can feel someone's eyes trained on him.

Crane's watching. The man shares a look with him and glances down at the pup...something passes behind his eyes. It takes him only a minute to put two and two together.

It's good to see they're still running on the same track.

"More fluids, perhaps?" Crane suggests, brushing the incident off as a fainting spell. The kid looks embarrassed. And trusting...Crane _is_, after all, a doctor.

"It's nothing," the pup replies, almost stuttering. He opens his mouth to add something else to his defence but this eyes fall on the Joker. He pales.

Crane shrugs, making a half exasperated look as he follows the other guard to his next appointment. The kid lingers a minute to hold the door open for the Joker and his escorts—but he isn't doing it to puff up his chest. No. This kid's no soldier. He's just curious. And wary

So the Joker smiles.

It's only polite.

-2-Joker-2-

Three days left until the pipes on the second floor are fixed. Everything else has been dried out and repaired, and half of the inmates have already been returned to their cells. It's why the staff is taking it easy. Everything's running _smoothly_...

Everything really is.

"I have a theory..." he begins.

The shrink pauses, pen poised as she halts mid-sentence to hear him out. She writes more often than she talks...more often than she listens too. It's her defence mechanism against everything he tells her; her strategy to zone out the truth. It's a feeble attempt at stoicism.

"...If the world was run by madmen what would you do?"

"I..." her mouth works to form the words but he hears nothing. After a moment, she replies, "Why do you ask?"

"...You really wanna know?"

"No, it's just..." her eye twitches. Slightly. "I suppose...I'd do whatever I _had_ to do to survive. It's only natural, rightly?"

_Exactly_.

That's what everyone would do—it'd be chaotic, sure, but it`d be absolutely _stunning _too. Like a burning strip of magnesium, brilliant and blinding. Hell, if people knew what kind of men were _really _running the world right now, they'd probably lose their minds.

Not that he's complaining.

"What would you do?"

"Heh," He laughs. As if she doesn't already know... "What _wouldn't_ I do?"

"Of course..."

"How about a change of topic?"

She looks wary...but after a moment of contemplation she nods. "What would you like to talk about?"

"The Riddler."

This, of course, is against the rules. She's dealt with other crazies—'_hero_-worshipers', to put it lightly. Most doctors try to steer away from the topic of villains during their sessions. Not her. Either she's got a bigger jones than her male coworkers or she's just too scared to change the subject.

"...Alright. What about him?"

She's really starting to grow on him.

"What's he been up to?" he asks—almost as though he and Crane haven't been keeping tabs on the news. "What's his _plan_?"

"Plan...?" she presses the back of her pen to her lower lip, obviously tempted to chew on it, "...I don't know. Aside from playing games with the Batman and giving the general public a good scare, he hasn't actually stolen or destroyed anything...at least, not on a major scale. There was that one incident with an armoured truck but nobody was actually hurt..."

You don't say...

The Joker leans back in his chair and crosses his legs—to the best of his abilities in the straightjacket wrapped around his chest and hips. It's a snug fit but that's how Arkham designed it. So inconsiderate. "When do we get to meet him?"

Doctor what's-her-name stares at him over the rim of her glasses, frowning. She's getting to be gutsy for a girl. "Arkham has a placed reserved for him but whether or not he's actually caught depends entirely on the Batman and GPD's Commissioner."

Of course, because the Riddler is an intelligent man and his questions weren't designed for the average Joe. This _could_ be the key to an elaborate plan or, perhaps, what's-her-name is right: he doesn't really have one. He's acting on a whim.

The Joker can't _wait_ to meet him.

"Alright. That's all," he leans back a bit further, lifting a foot to press against her desk. With a gentle push, he balances on the back two legs of his chair, "Session's over."

She sighs audibly but doesn't argue.

What the Joker wants, he usually gets.

-3-Joker-3-

It's exciting.

Almost.

The night guard locks John 2's (and the late John 1's) cell door and returns the key to his belt with a deliberate jingle. He whistles lowly between his lips and strolls to the end of the hall with all the pomp of an arrogant—

"Lights out," he orders in a deep indolent tone of voice, "Be nice to Roger. He'll be standing outside."

'_Roger', _meaning the pup.

"Will do," Crane replies lethargically, mocking the watchman under his breath. Once the door is shut, he clears his throat. Tonight is doomed to be busy. "Clark...would you like to hear another nursery rhyme?"

'_Clark_' moans, sounding small and feeble in the darkness of his cell. Joker won't be able to refer to him as anyone else than 'John' inside his head, however. It's a habit of his.

"No..._please_..."

"Hush. It's nothing sinister—" he clears his throat again, "—_'When Adam delved and Eve span, who was then a gentleman?'_..." (1)

"W-what does it mean?"

"Equality, I suppose, because there was no distinction of class when only Adam and Eve existed."

John swallows loudly, taking the bait but still treading carefully... "Why's it important?"

"The peasants used the saying during the Bubonic Plague—made them realize how important they really were to the economy."

"Oh."

"That, and it's cold in here."

His answer is followed by silence. John's really worried now. "...Why do you say that?"

"Oh...it`s nothing. I was just thinking about epidemics...and the cold...It's awfully cold in here, isn't it? It's not just me?"

"_It's cold..."_ Joker's old friend moans a few cells down. Someone else sneezes; one of the men starts murmuring to himself.

The ball's started rolling now.

"I...I didn't think it was..."

"But my hands are numb," Crane replies, voice sounding a little faint; _scared_, "Please, tell me it's just the cold. It is..._isn't it_...?"

"_He can't feel them!"_ Another crazy shrieks, _"He can't feel them anymore!"_

"Clark, tell me—is it, or _isn't_ it cold in here?"

"N-no—"

—"_I can't feel my feet!"—"It's cold..."—"He can't feel them anymore"—  
_

Everyone's awake by now, scared half to death by a non-existent disease. Just as Clark starts screaming, good old Roger bursts in through the door.

"What's going on in here?!"

"_He's sick_!" Clark wails, "Take him away! He shouldn't be near us!"

"Who's sick?"

The Joker lifts himself up off his bed. With the steadiest voice heard that night, he replies, "Why, it's Dr. Crane, of course."

Faintly, he can hear the doctor tumble to the floor, doubled-over in faux pain. Moaning, he begs for someone to save him.

And Roger opens the door.

On cue.

Moving to the tiny window of his door, he wraps his hands around the small bars and, licking his lips, waits for Crane to emerge from his cell. There's a sudden _'whack!'_ followed by a muffled cry and a solid thud as the young guard is overpowered. The job's done in the span of a few measly seconds.

Crane may be lanky but he's certainly no beanpole.

The doctor doesn't say anything as he takes the kid's keys and baton. Searching for the right one, he steps out into the hall, up to the Joker's door and undoes the lock. When the electric lock jumps to action, he disables it with his old code. No sweat.

They really do work beautifully together.

The ward's still hollering like the phantoms of hell when two other guards appear at the end of the hall. Crane's smiling. He lets the Joker take the baton as the first one approaches...

Fifteen minutes later and they're already on the road. Tearing down the highway, so to speak. The car they jacked from the parking lot is a little worse for wear but they plan on ditching it anyway.

Crane struggles in the back seat, twisting awkwardly in an attempt to grab the few out-of-reach straps on his jacket. He freed his arms long ago in his cell but he wants to get the damn thing off.

As aggravated as he is, he doesn't complain when the Joker reaches over for the radio dial and cranks the volume. Ironically, _'Jailhouse rock'_ blares at them from somewhere halfway through the song.

Heh.

Must be a sign.

AN: I apologize if it sounds weird. I'm still trying to get the Joker's voice right in my head. As for the opening line, um...if you can think of anything better, just throw me a stone. I don't mind criticism (so long as it's constructive).

In any case, the Riddler's going to make his first appearance in the next chapter. His personality in this story is based heavily on the comic's interpretation of him and his compulsion to leave riddles wherever he goes. If you know about his sometime good, sometime bad personality that's great but don't worry if you're not a comic fan.

(1) Crane basically explains the lowdown on this rhyme. I didn't invent it (if you google 'dark nursery rhymes' or something of the like you'll find a couple of interesting ones).

Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. ;D


	3. Chapter 3

Title: In the Eye of the Hurricane – Chapter three  
Characters: Joker, Scarecrow/Crane and the Riddler. Batman will be mentioned (and will make appearances) as the story progresses, though he isn't the focus of the story.  
Rating: Pg-17 (if such a thing exists)  
Timeframe: follows after the second movie  
Warnings: violence, obvious insanity and the death of innocent (or not-so-innocent) bystanders...after all, this is about the Joker...  
Disclaimer: I'm not making a profit off of this—nor do I have the desire to either. I'm just playing in someone else's sandbox.  
Summary: It's true what they say. Sanity can only last so long...

Apparently, you're supposed to stop at a red light.

The Joker shrugs it off as a learning experience but Crane is somewhat miffed when a police cruiser pulls in behind them after the third intersection. It's fairly late, traffic's non-existent and there's a remarkable lack of people on the streets. They're all gone. Somewhere. Maybe the Riddler has them scared stiff—what, with his _'death and destruction'_ and all...

Yeah right.

Something's up.

"Hey, Chuckles, we're going to make a quick _pit_ stop."

Crane stares at him through the reflection of the rear-view mirror and it takes only a moment for the message to sink. He glances quickly over his shoulder at the cop in pursuit and has all of ten seconds to scramble into the front passenger seat before the Joker slams on the breaks.

The back glass shatters. Something went flying when they made contact and he's betting that's why Crane moved to the front. They skid through the fourth intersection, police cruiser pressed into them like a crushed soda can, before rolling to a sickly halt—all sparks and screeching metal. That's why he likes some of these old rusty cars. Good frame. Tough enough to kill a moose.

Crane's airbag deployed. His didn't. He pats the dashboard affectionately before shouldering his door open, taking a moment to smooth down his straightjacket as he steps over to the cruiser. It's then that he spots the other car behind it. Bent the cruiser all to hell. Looks like a scene from a cool action movie.

The cop looks a little..._worse _for_ wear_, all bloody and whatnot, but the guy behind him looks much better. The man shoves open his door and stumbles out onto wobbly feet, makes a move to see if the cop's alright before he spots the Joker and hightails out of there instead.

"I take it we interrupted his game."

The Joker licks his lips; watches the man run toward the sidewalk before darting around the corner. "I think GPD needs to, uh, _lighten up_ a little. The more, the merrier, you know?"

Because it really is a no-brainer—the Bat solved a riddle, told the commissioner where to expect the next attack and good old Gordon sent his toy soldiers to block all the exits. That explains the cruiser, the stray driver and the lack of all other life forms. But what could it hurt to have a few extra players? The Joker's betting he could solve the riddles too if the anchorman bothered to broadcast a couple of them.

"He's fairly confident in himself to be leaving so many clues," Crane wonders aloud, the doctor inside him just vocalizing old thoughts, "unless, of course, there's something else compelling him..."

Maybe. Maybe not. The Joker has to admit—he likes a guy with an air of mystery. It's not as challenging when you know how to read them.

Then he sees a young couple.

A guy and his gal, a petite blonde leaning heavily against his lean frame. He's laughing quietly about some joke and she's snickering, _obviously_ intoxicated. The young man has his arm around her shoulders, leading her to a bench by the nearest bus stop, acting the part of the perfect gentleman...

It helps that he's wearing the green.

"_That_," he says, making sure to put emphasis on the word as he points at the man in question, "That _there_ is unfair."

Crane frowns curiously, "How so?"

"I've been here longer. How did he get a side-chick before me?"

"She's intoxicated."

"Same difference."

Crane pauses, contemplating his argument. Then nods. He waits for the Joker to lead the way as the Riddler sits the woman down on the bench next to him, trying to help her keep her head up. He's a good looking young fellow, someone that probably could've made it far in the world if not for his obvious urge to play do-or-dare with the authorities (and their psycho pet rodent). It wouldn't be difficult for him to get a little cooperation from a horribly misguided lady.

"This is for him," the young man says, taking a folded piece of paper and placing it in the palm of her right hand. He has a walking cane, which he sets down beside her as he closes her fingers around the note. "He'll need it for the next riddle."

" 'kay, hon..."

He smiles kindly at her, leans back and stretches his arms out to rest his elbows on the back of the bench. Crossing his legs, he tilts his head slightly forward to scrutinize the pair approaching him from under the shade of his green hat. "Let's start with something simple, shall we?"

"Go ahead," Crane replies.

" 'Alive without breath, as cold as death; never thirsty, ever drinking; all in mail never clinking.' What am I?"

"Is it considered cheating if I already know the answer to this one?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," he sighs, "The internet makes just about everything easily accessible."

"A fish."

The Riddler sighs again, taking his elbows off the bench to grab his cane. It has a black wood shaft and a gold cap. A gentleman's cane. "Scarecrow and Joker...what a surprise."

"Really?" the Joker asks as he rolls up the sleeves of his straightjacket and takes a seat on the other side of the Riddler, "And here I was hoping to _awe_ you with my presence..."

"I'm speechless, really, but some things are just inevitable. From what I've heard, you've escaped the police several times before in the past."

"My, my, word _does_ get around..."

"You're a native to Gotham, I take it?" Crane asks, weeding out whatever information he can. It always helps to get a little background on the guy you plan on _rehabilitating_.

The Riddler senses this. But he smirks (just a little) and answers anyway. "I am, but I was away when the Batman introduced himself to Gotham City..."

The Joker leans over and pats him on the knee amicably, "You know, it never hurts to make a new friend. Which makes me wonder, sweetheart, how did you happen to meet the Bat...?"

"How else? I broke into a bank."

The word _'broke'_ sets off the alarm bells inside his head. It's a clue. And it's a good one.

The Riddler's really not a big bad wolf.

Not _yet_, anyway.

Crane smiles, "And you didn't _rob_ it because...?"

"Because it'd be a waste of time and resources—_you_, on the other hand,would do it just to get a reaction out of everyone. Wouldn't you?" The Riddler lifts the end of his cane and stares at the gold cap. It's then that the Joker notices the small question mark engraved on it. "Besides...if I was ever compelled to steal anything, I think, maybe, it would be art..."

Crane opens his mouth to ask another questions but he's cut short by an ominous roar in the distance. _That_, the Joker supposes, is the Bat-automobile...Bat-o-bile...Bat-_mo-_bile...

He likes that last one the best.

The Joker stretches, half tempted to just sit there and wait for the man in black, but they have places to go and the cops are going to get restless soon. The Joker knows they're watching, the chick probably being the only one that doesn't know about them yet. They're lurking in the alleyways, like rats...

They're _greedy_.

Why catch three villains when you can wait five minutes and get the _supposedly_ tainted vigilante as well?

"As much as I enjoy a challenge, I'm afraid I'm something of a featherweight in the Batman's category," the Riddler murmurs quietly, lifting the other end of his cane to aim at the nearest stoplight, "Now, if you'll please excuse me, I need to finish the preparations for tomorrow's heist."

He presses down on the gold cap and there's a swift whistling noise before the stoplight bursts, sparks raining down onto the crushed vehicles below. One of the sparks ignites something in the light and blue smoke rises from the ruins.

Gas bullets.

Nifty.

"Can I get your number?" The Joker asks, laying the humour on a little thick as the Riddler stands, cane in hand, straightening his jacket, "I _must_ see you again, darling."

"No, but I'm pretty sure you're more than capable of finding me on your own within the next couple of days. And if not—" he tips his hat first to him and then to Crane before taking a step down the street, _away _from the dark cloud descending upon them and into the madness of the night, "—then it's goodnight, gentlemen!"

He has to appreciate a man with class but he really doesn't have the time to sit around and ponder the Riddler's true intentions. He's not _evil_ in the heavier sense of the word. No. Not at all. _Deviant_, perhaps, but the poor misguided boy is walking the finer line toward landing himself in a mental institution, one that might actually _cure_ him. It's a line the Joker looks forward to shoving him off of. Gotham doesn't need any more lost souls. It needs men with knives and explosives—and if the cane is anything to judge by, then the kid just might find himself enjoying the simpler pleasures provided by good old fashioned detonators.

The intersection is flooded with the Riddler's smoke, twin lights breaking through the darkness to illuminate the bench.

That would be the Bat.

The Joker laughs. He jumps to his feet and grabs Crane by the wrist before darting off in the Riddler's direction. They can hear the Batman as his wha-cha-ma-call-it opens up and spits him out; hear him glide through the darkness to find the moaning girl. That's when the cops jump into action, lights flashing and sirens whining as they rush in to catch at least _someone_ in the madness.

They're a little too late for that now.

The Joker plans on paying the Batman a visit but that can wait. Later. Just as soon as he and Crane complete their trio.

The Riddler's got something more than just a bat waiting for him in the wings.

And the Joker really does love his surprises...

A/N: Just on a side note, my mom nearly hit a moose once. You don't want to hit a moose. Your car (and you) will suffer dearly and the moose will walk away...

As for the Riddler's 'riddle', it was taken from the 'batbad' website (just google "riddler" and "batbad" together and it'll be the first site that pops up). I'm pretty sure the riddle can be found on several websites but that just happens to be where I discovered it.

Alright, thanks for putting up with my third chapter. If there's anything that needs changing, just throw me a stone, and I'm sorry if I seem to be interpreting the Riddler a little weird. In the comics, he wasn't as _'bad'_ as the other villains. Don't get me wrong—he`s a villain, alright. But that's because he let things get a little out of hand...


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: If you know me from livejournal, then this is old news and I apologize. If you only know me from this website, then I wholeheartedly hope you enjoy what you read ;)

Title: In the Eye of the Hurricane – Chapter four  
Author: ladyofpride  
Characters: Joker, Scarecrow/Crane and the Riddler. Batman will be mentioned (and make appearances) as the story progresses, though he isn't the focus of the story.  
Rating: Pg-17 (if such a thing exists).  
Timeframe: follows after the second movie  
Warnings: violence, obvious insanity and the death of innocent (or not-so-innocent) bystanders...after all, this is about the Joker...  
Disclaimer: I'm not making a profit off of this—nor do I have the desire to either. I'm just playing in someone else's sandbox.  
Summary: It's true what they say. Sanity can only last so long...

First chapter: (**Chapter one**) –all chapters are connected.

What's red, green and blue all over?

...

He has no idea. A beach ball, maybe...

This whole _riddle_ scheme is harder than it appears.

Crane gives him a worried look halfway through their walk, probably wondering why he hasn't said or done anything spontaneous yet. He can't blame the guy. Silence isn't _natural_.

Don't argue. It just isn't.

"How do you catch a guy on the run?"

Crane laughs, "Is that a riddle or an actual question?"

"A little of both."

"You...break his legs?"

Alright...but they can't exactly show the kid what a _real_ heist looks like if they have to haul him around in a wheelchair.

The Joker stretches out one arm, fingers brushing against the cold damp wall of the alley. He steps in a puddle and the water soaks through the cheap white sneakers the asylum issues to all its prisoners. They're not exactly dressed for a night out on the town but they have time to find something suitable to wear for tomorrow evening.

After all, he wants to look his best for their newfound friend.

"So...did the kid invite us on a date or what?"

Crane shrugs. He glances again at the Joker before supplying him with an answer, "He left us a clue, though I'm not sure why."

The Joker runs a hand through his hair. His roots are darker now but the green dye is soldiering on. "It's 'cause he's eager to see us again."

"So I see..."

The Joker gives him a punch in the arm. Laughs a little. It's been a while since they've taken a breath of fresh air outside the confines of Arkham Asylum. Even longer for Crane. "So, where the hell does the kid plan on seeing us?"

"Where else?"

-1-Joker-1-

Two criminals walk into a drugstore. What do you think they said?

Nothing, actually. Despite his urge to waltz in through the front door (he would've gotten one hell of a reaction out of the salesclerk), Crane convinces him to break in through the back. As badly as they want to scare some poor bystander senseless, neither of them is exactly armed for a fight with security and Crane needs time to find the right drugs for their future experiment.

Breaking in is a synch. There's a punk-wannabe kid standing by the back door, sucking on the end of a cigarette as though it's his last lifeline, and he doesn't notice the strange pair until the Joker's within three paces of him. The door's standing wide open, said underage punk is out enjoying the early morning breeze and he has all of two seconds to register the attack before the Joker literally busts his chops.

He foresees no smoking for this kid in the near future.

The Joker leads the way as they slip inside, being about as inconspicuous as two cats in a bird house, crossing the employee longue and entering the narrow hallway between the front of the store and the side entrance of the pharmacy. A woman is standing there. Her crisp white lab coat speaks for itself. Before she can scream, the Joker has her by the throat, slamming the back of her head into the nearest wall to cut off any ideas she might've had of calling for help. She chokes on her next words as Crane pulls the jacket off her arms, looking more than just a little under the weather as the Joker shoves her into a storage closet.

Crane pauses. Admires the shocked expression on her face as she wavers in and out of consciousness before he shuts the door. The man hasn't had much of a chance to indulge himself in his strange fascination since their breakout but he'll have plenty of time for that once they deal with the Riddler.

The doctor slips off his straightjacket and yanks '_Dr. Torrs'_ nametag off the breast pocket before tugging on the coat. Crane's slim enough to fit it. He fixes the collar, buttons it up the front to hide his orange jumpsuit, and wanders into the pharmacy with the calm, collected stride of a professional.

That's when the Joker spots the exacto-knife.

The Joker's never been an avid believer of divine forces but he's prepared to take it into consideration now. The damn thing just is sitting on top of a stack of sealed boxes, idle as can be, _waiting_ for some purpose in its inanimate life.

He's willing to give it one.

Snatching up the toy, he follows Crane to the end of the hallway and lingers there as the man strolls over to the shelves on the far side. Another pharmacist is at work today but he's sitting at one of those personal booths with an elderly man and a spindly old woman. The woman spots Crane, squinting through her glasses to get a better look at him, but Crane is a natural and she can't quite see his orange pants behind the counter.

The doctor doesn't waste any time scanning the vast selection for the drugs and syringes that he needs. The Joker's eager to put his knife to good use and that's when he sees the birthday display.

Balloons. Napkins. Streamers. Party favours.

Face paint...

He needs the white, at least.

The old croon gives him a weird look as he sneaks toward the front counter. When he jumps over it she looks absolutely appalled. It's amusing. There's a sign that reads _'Now open from 6:00 – 10:00'_ and he nearly tumbles into it before correcting himself on his feet, shoes making a weird squelching noise as he lands before stalking over to the display. The elderly man with the pharmacist is talking load enough to cover the noise and is apparently an expert at tuning out his wife as she starts yammering about something in a foreign language.

The whole thing runs smoothly up until he grabs one of the kits.

A kid that doesn't even reach his waist skids around the corner, sliding to a sudden halt when his eyes fall on the Joker. He takes a quick look between the criminal and the birthday display before grinning.

"_Whoa_."

Really, with all the violence on T.V. these days it's no wonder kids are desensitized.

The Joker opens his mouth to give the kid a piece of advice but that's when big sister Suzy-Sue darts around the corner and grab the tyke by his arm.

"Travis, mom is going to be _so_ mad at you. You shouldn't..."

Her rant falls short when her brother points to him.

She doesn't scream (which is just a little unusual) but she _does_ yank her brother rather viciously after her down the aisle. The Joker wets his lips and leans over to give the boy a little wave before he turns around, kit in hand, and notices that the pharmacist has _finally_ spotted him.

"You..._you're_..."

The Joker waits for him to remember his name but Crane's finished with his collection by now and looks a little peeved by the discovery. The man hears the criminal approaching from behind but doesn't have much time to defend himself as Crane gets him in the face with a half-decent right hook. He did it with a pill bottle in his hand too. Not bad.

The guy goes down like a sack of potatoes.

It's then that the old witch starts hollering. The old man looks as though he's about to have a heart attack. Joker skips back over the counter and follows his partner in crime as they dart down the hallway, back through the employee longue and out into the alleyway. The sky is burning. The sun is rising over the living grave of Gotham City.

The Joker can just _tell_ today is going to be great.

Tonight is going to be even better.

-2-Joker-2-

According to Crane, the clue the Riddler gave them was '_art'_.

There are several different museums and galleries in Gotham but one stands out for Crane when he turns the television on and switches to a news channel. There's a mummy display at Central but a new gallery is opening up on the east side, a collection from some rich French woman visiting America. Several of her pieces have never been viewed before but much of her inspiration comes from Monet.

The Joker listens to the news with only half an ear as he rummages through the bedroom closet for something that doesn't scream '_lawyer'_. The previous owner of the apartment was a single man and he wasn't exactly the brightest fellow for leaving his balcony doors unlocked, but he made the right amount of money and dressed well enough to flaunt it. Crane dresses much like his professional self _before_ he was admitted to the nuthouse but it takes him a while to find a good belt for the dark slacks. The late owner had more of a regular build; the Joker's size.

There's nothing _colourful_ in his closet but the Joker doesn't mind the knee-length coat he finds at the far back. It's a little old, has the left shoulder stitched up expertly and the words on the inside tag have faded with time. It must've been a lucky coat.

...Obviously not _now_ but the guy wasn't exactly wearing it when they broke into his living room.

Crane stashes the drugs in the kitchen and shuts off the living room light so he can catch a little shut eye on the couch. The Joker spends the most part of the morning rummaging through the knife draw in the kitchen. He pockets a potato peeler for good measure and stocks up on anything else he can get his hands on.

You can never have too many blades.

-4-Joker-4-

It feels like Christmas morning when they get to the gallery. The car they hotwired is old like the last one but it isn't built for head-on collisions. Crane kicks it into gear and gets them to the place a little after sunset, parks in the alleyway alongside the small building and waits an hour before he deems it safe to enter. The street isn't busy but they both advocate the idea of using the back stairwell. The Joker doesn't mind locking horns with security but it would be rude to steal the Riddler's thunder. The guy seems to have everything planned out to a tee.

And he does.

Security is already down. Two middle-aged men lie comatose on the third floor just outside the gallery's twin doors. One of them has a funny little metal pin sticking out of the side of his neck.

Sedatives.

Why is he _not_ surprised?

Crane toes one of the limp figures with his left foot, tilting his head to take in the blank expression on the man's face. "...Some criminals would argue that guns are more effective."

The Riddler is standing at the far end of the gallery, leaning to one side on that _incredible_ cane of his with just his right hand. One of his calves is crossed over the other in a relaxed position. For a moment, his interest is fixed entirely on a painting, admiring it in the dim illumination of the room...

When he turns his head he doesn`t look at them, just keeps them in the corner of his eye. "_Anyone_ is capable of destruction, Dr. Crane. I think a greater deal of effort is invested in preservation and creation."

"That depends" the Joker replies, "on how _imaginative_ a man can be."

The Riddler uncrosses his calves and shifts his weight evenly between both feet. After a moment, he lifts his cane and rests it against his shoulder, pivoting on his heel to face the pair.

"Do you plan on stealing anything tonight?" Crane asks, folding his hands behind his back as he steps inside and glances at one of the smaller portraits. Just for a little _privacy_, the Joker follows him inside and closes the doors behind him. "You mentioned earlier that if you were ever compelled to steal anything it would probably be art."

"I did, didn't I...?" the Riddler replies quietly. He's smiling. Just a little. As he approaches them, _slowly_, the Joker can see the mischievous twinkle in those lovely green eyes of his. When he stops in front of them, he can see the life in them. The vivacity. The _élan_.

He's an animate person—you'd _have_ to be in order to run twenty-some consecutive heists against Gotham's greatest detective. But he's not built for battle (just like he said). He's got more of slender frame, like Crane, and is a tad bit shorter. Maybe by an inch...maybe _half_ an inch—the Joker really doesn't care. It's just the _energy_ he's concerned with, the simple thrum of it in the man's brisk stride, and its gradual _decline_ in the weary posture of his shoulders. He's pale. He's weakening.

He's tired.

There's something plaguing his mind, something that's driven him to challenge Gotham's Dark Knight to a perpetually endless game of questions and clues. The Joker's seen it before. Some people become obsessed with things that take them years to accomplish—a house, a dog, a kid (or 2.5 kids, at least). The Riddler's beast isn't that simple. He could've chosen a normal life but something drove him to the brink of insanity and he's clearly fighting tooth and nail to hold on.

Beside the Joker, Crane is coming to the same conclusion. "Where do you plan on leading the Batman?" he asks, "I'm _assuming_ this game will come to an eventual end..."

"He's a cunning man," the Riddler replies, "the best _kind_ of man to test my riddles. I want to know if I can beat him."

The Joker considers himself something of an expert when it comes to reading lies. The Riddler isn't _lying_ so much as he's _avoiding_ the whole truth. Alright—he can buy the idea that the guy wants to match wits with the Bat (after all, that's what he has all of Gotham believing) but it isn't his main goal. It isn't the star on his horizon.

"You mean there's nothing more to this game?" Crane asks curiously, "You just feel compelled to harass Gotham's saviour with your riddles?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe _not_."

The Riddler smiles again, tapping his shoulder with his cane—though his smile is a little thin and the spark in his eyes dulls a little as he narrows them. "Then what, do you suppose, is my great secret?"

And that's when the Joker gets it. He takes in the Riddler's defensive position, the tension in his shoulders, the potential mischief hiding there in plain sight beneath the green, and it all just _clicks_.

"I know what it is," he says. The two men stare at him, Crane a little curious, the Riddler mildly upset—both equally surprised. Really, why hadn't he thought of it before? "You're a leprechaun."

Crane gives him a weird look. The Riddler opens his own mouth to protest but closes it again almost immediately. He's frowning in the kind of way that he can't tell whether the Joker's being serious or not.

"Oh, come _on_," the Joker sighs, rolling his eyes, "If not for those things you keep leaving everywhere—"

"—riddles," Crane supplies.

"—then the media would've labelled you Patrick O'Danger or...or something stupid like that. You cause mischief for no apparent reason, you wear _green_ all the time, you're _short_—"

"—I'm not _that_ short," he protests.

"—and you've got a _hat_. Add a shamrock to it and you'll complete the look."

"That's a rather crude observation."

"Well, do you like Lucky Charms?"

"No," the man mutters, "And that isn't the answer. I—"

The man is cut short by the incessant beeping noise on his left wrist. He pulls up the sleeve of his suit-jacket to glance at his watch and curses under his breath.

"You have a bomb?" The Joker asks hopefully.

"No. Batman's going to be here soon."

One of Crane's eyebrows arches ever so slightly, clearly interested by the man's answer. "You recorded the amount of time it takes the Batman to react to one of your riddles?"

"Not exactly," the man admits solemnly. "He's improved quite a bit since the last few heists..."

"Even so..."

The Riddler stares at the floor for a moment, mind wandering a thousand miles a minute as he brushes past the Joker and heads toward a beside the doors. The Joker almost does a double take when he spots the Polaroid Land Camera sitting there. But those things are old...older than the kid. 1970s maybe?

"Your family couldn't afford to buy a new one?" the Joker inquires as the kid unfolds the collapsible model and strolls on over to one of the paintings.

"I need the photo tonight," he explains as he raises the camera to his eye and takes a snap at the seaside picture, "It would be rude to leave that woman with nothing to show her guests..."

"You actually _like_ this painting?" Crane asks, stepping up beside the boy.

"It's alright, I suppose." The Riddler lowers the camera and takes the photo from its mouth. Bending down to place the Polaroid on the floor, he straightens again and reaches into his pocket for a black marker. "The Batman will find it if he figures out the next clue."

He writes something on the back of the photo. A bunch of numbers. Joker catches a couple of 3s and a 5 as he steps up behind him but by then the Riddler's done. The kid pauses to put the photo on the ground before reaching up to grab the original and it's then that the Joker realizes the Riddler has purple gloves.

...He had purple gloves once...

"Then why this gallery?" Crane presses.

"The artist is French."

Ah...

As if that makes any sense.

But it probably does to the Bat. The kid's last riddle could've said anything, really—the Batman still would've been able to solve it.

"Which reminds me..." the Riddle turns to face Crane, glancing briefly at the Joker before returning his attention to the doctor, "...what is it that interests you about me? You already know I don't kill or steal—I'm really no use to you or your companion."

The Joker smiles; the Riddler catches it in the corner of his eye. "We're here to _save_ you, of course!"

"...From what?"

Isn't it obvious? "_Yourself_."

It's then that the lights flicker. They flicker again before failing, leaving the emergency lights for clarity—and he _knows_ it's the Bat. The guy is just so damn _obsessed_ with spooking his prey before gliding in for the attack that if it _isn't_ him the Joker's willing to quit wearing face make-up for at least a year.

Glass shatters out in the hall somewhere close to the doors.

The Bat is going to kick it in any minute now.

The Riddler tucks the painting under his left arm and lifts his cane, walking over to the door as if there isn't some deranged man dressed as a flying rodent waiting for him on the other side.

"I take it you have a plan?" Crane asks in obvious amusement. He and the doctor keep up behind the kid, both equally curious as to how he plans on evading Gotham's hero.

"Something of the like..." the Riddler murmurs as he aims the bottom of his cane at his destination. The Joker's expecting more gas bullets but he finds something a little more interesting instead.

A dart of some sort or another is ejected from the cane, hitting the door with an audible _thud_ before exploding.

See!

He _knew_ the kid would enjoy explosives.

It isn't just some toy either. The twin doors and half of the wall are blown to kingdom come, splinters raining down on them as they press forward through the cloud of dust. Someone shouts out in the hall, covered by the brunt of the destruction, and the Riddler steps over and around it as though he's done this a thousand times before.

"You have a car?" The Riddler asks over his shoulder as Crane and the Joker skip over the debris after him. A chunk of the door is knocked aside just then, a sure sign that the Batman won't be down for long. The explosion might've shocked him a bit but the Joker's seen him endure worse in the past.

Damn, if this isn't exciting.

"...We do," Crane admits quietly, eyes focused briefly on their nemesis before he follows the kid into the stairwell. "Were you expecting us?"

"It occurred to me that you might show up but I was really hoping I would be gone before Gotham's Knight arrived. I'm not exactly a fan of running."

"_I_ am," the Joker giggles, skipping the stairs by twos as they dash down to the ground. The Riddler glances at him strangely for a moment but tries to ignore him for the most part. The kid's smart. He knows something up.

When they burst out into the alleyway, the Riddler's eyes fall on their beat-up car before he glances the other way down into the darkness.

"Are you coming?" Crane asks, though he says it with an air of sarcasm. "I think we need to have a little heart to heart."

The Riddler doesn't even look at him as he takes a step in the other direction. "No...I think I better not."

He's obviously startled when the Joker reaches out to grab him by the wrist. The Riddler almost drops his cane. He spins around to glare at the man, that perceptive look of his returning to his eyes, and the Joker just can't help but smile when the kid says, "I don't need saving."

Denial.

Honestly, _people_ these days...

"Oh, you need it _more_ than you know, kid."

And he does.

_Everyone_ thinks they're fine before the fall...

A/N: Ack—I know! I hope they still sound in character. If not, please feel free to throw me in a burlap sack and beat me back to sense. I'm sorry (ducks for cover).

...Anyway, the Joker's comment about the Riddler and his subtle inability to lie is from the comics. That's why he leaves riddles—he just can't do something without leaving a hint that will unveil the mystery of why he does what he does. I'll tell you more about it as the story progresses...


	5. Chapter 5

Title: In the Eye of the Hurricane – Chapter five  
Author: ladyofpride  
Characters: Joker, Scarecrow/Crane and the Riddler. Batman will be mentioned (and make appearances) as the story progresses, though he isn't the focus of the story.  
Rating: Pg-17 (if such a thing exists).  
Timeframe: follows after the second movie  
Warnings: violence, obvious insanity and the death of innocent (or not-so-innocent) bystanders...after all, this is about the Joker...  
Disclaimer: I'm not making a profit off of this—nor do I have the desire to either. I'm just playing in someone else's sandbox.  
Summary: It's true what they say. Sanity can only last so long...

He can feel the Riddler's pulse as his fingers slip under the cuff of his green suit jacket, heart beat racing as they close around the bony wrist. The kid's rate is incredible. _Enticing_. It feels as though he should be high off of ecstasy or freebase. Too bad the kid's not shaking.

The Joker can remember the old kids, the ones he's seen over the years in the alleys, and how they'd shake and yell and lose their minds under a moon that wasn't quite full. It's all about the power, right? The struggle before the ultimate high—followed by the sickening sensation of _nothing_ after you've hit rock bottom. And they _had_ absolutely nothing until they could get their hands on another shot of pure liquid gold.

But the Riddler doesn't need that sort of power. That rush. Even with the sudden adrenaline boost, his head is level. There's this daring look in his eyes—one that speaks volumes for someone currently questioning his own sanity. The battle raging on inside his head is a beautiful one indeed.

Dementia does the _weirdest_ things to some people...

"What's your rush?"

The Riddler stares at him for a moment, almost as though he can't decide whether to be angry, afraid or utterly baffled by the Joker's bizarre behaviour. After a moment's hesitation, he tugs his arm free and takes a step back. The Joker merely smoothes down the front of his coat in response and licks his lips patiently, knowing that the kid probably doesn't buy his innocent look any more than Crane does. Even so, it helps, sometimes, to confuse the hell out of people. It can buy a person time.

The crash in the stairway startles them out of their reverie. Mostly. The Joker's accustomed to expecting the unexpected and, if the Riddler's history of escaping the Bat is anything to judge him by, the man is familiar with the Bat's persistence.

He glances once over at Crane and waves. With a small laugh, the Joker pivots quickly on his right heel and makes a swipe for the painting under the kid's arm.

It's showtime.

The Riddler's cane is half-raised, hand now free from the Joker's grasp, but he doesn't react in time to stop him as the artefact is tugged out from under his arm. A startled cry escapes his throat as the Joker spins in a half circle (somewhat awkwardly) and tosses the painting carelessly to his partner in crime.

Crane somehow manages to catch it with one hand, ducking inside quickly as another bang is heard inside the stairwell. And since there's no way to drop directly down to the ground floor, he suspects the Bat must be rolling down the stairs.

"Stop!" The Riddler shouts and the Joker hears more of anger than anything else in that refined voice of his. In the poor illumination of the distant street light, all he can see is a brief flash of dark green as the young man darts past him toward the car.

He barely reaches out in time to stop the kid. Crane revs up the engine as he turns the man sharply to face him. He caught him by the arm this time, just above the elbow, but it's not the arm with the cane and he wouldn't put it past the kid to strike him with his favourite toy.

When something slams into the stairwell door, the Joker is honestly surprised it stays standing. The Batman put one hell of a dent in it and it won't take more than a second for him to finish the job.

Wisely, the Riddler shifts his attention to the more immediate danger and aims the base of his cane at the door, shooting something small and silver. The Joker is hoping it's another explosive but it shatters upon impact with the ground.

...He's a little disappointed.

The Riddler wrenches his arm free just as the door swings out into the alleyway and slams against the adjacent wall violently. Reaching into one of his pockets, he produces a lighter and flicks the lid open.

The Batman rises to his full length as he steps out into the dim light. The Joker waves again in Crane's direction and this draws the Dark Knight's attention briefly toward the car as it screeches forward onto the street.

The Riddler thumbs the igniter, the tongue of tiny flame licking the air devilishly as the kid faces the man head on. There are only a few paces between them. One could easily act.

But the Riddler waits. He doesn't know why. It must be a part of the _'plan_'.

The Bat waits too, more so because he probably doesn't understand what his opponent's up to. It's exciting though. Better than drugs. The Joker's getting the jits just watching them—the Dark Knight standing there like a demon fresh from hell and the Riddler with a flame as small and fickle as the line separating his sanity from the impending fall. Nothing can beat this. The tension is breathtaking.

Those teenage delinquents have no idea what _real_ euphoria feels like.

The Joker wonders how long they can make the moment last, and then he smells it. It's faint—something familiar. The Batman must smell it too because he acts the instant the Riddler tosses the lighter forward, darting to one side to avoid catching the flame.

But the Riddler wasn't really aiming for him.

The gas from his dart reacts immediately, the alley filling with the same thick smoke from yesterday night. The Joker can only catch a glimpse of Gotham's martyr as the man glides in for the kill before he's lost in the haze.

There's a clash in the dark, the sound of feet scuffling along the ground just a little off to his left before something else ignites in the smog. There's a flash—and an eerie silence. His eyes are stinging.

Stepping back, someone bumps into his shoulder. They're too big to be the Riddler. Besides, the kid wasn't wearing any armour...at least, not any _he_ was aware of.

Slipping the steak knife out from his coat pocket, he takes a jab at the person in question and smiles as he manages to wedge the blade into tender flesh. He must've caught the man somewhere between the armour's plates.

The Dark Knight gasps. Actually...it's more of a wounded growl. When the Joker tugs the blade free, he's knocked aside before he can get another hit in. His jaw smarts but, stumbling backwards, he somehow manages to stay on his feet as he reaches the edge of the cloud. He can breathe again.

The gas must be fading.

Shuffling a little farther, he only catches a blur of the Riddler as the young man strolls briskly past him. His pace is not fast enough to be considered a run but the kid's no fool. It won't take long for the Bat to catch up.

Waving away the smoke in his eyes, he sprints after the kid and around the corner. He's admittedly a little surprised when the Riddler takes a good running jump at the fire escape ladder beside the building and somehow manages to pull himself up. Nimbly, he negotiates the ladder (cane still grasped securely in one hand) up onto the first balcony and then along the stairs steadily toward the roof of the apartment complex.

The Joker approaches the ladder and watches the Riddler a moment longer before jumping up to grab it. He misses the first time but catches it on the second try and yanks it the rest of the way down before scrambling up after him.

He barely makes it to the top before the Bat rounds the corner to the adjacent alleyway. The Joker can hear him coughing.

Darting up the final balcony, he reaches the roof and pulls himself over the ledge to find the Riddler fiddling with his cane. The kid is cursing under his breath, trying to load something through the base.

"Need a little _help_?"

The Riddler looks up at him, somewhat glaring from under the brim of his hat, and shakes his head, "No. Not from _you_."

"What's your rush?" He asks—and jumps a little to the side as the talon end of a grappling hook sinks its teeth into the concrete of the ledge. The Joker leans over the side gently to steal a glance at the rapidly ascending vigilant, _tsking_ under his breath as the man draws nearer to the roof.

"Stand back," the kid says, apparently ready with his daisy toy to fight the big, bad man in black.

"Relax—I have a _better_ idea!"

And he does.

The second he sees the Dark Knight's head, he lashes out with a hearty kick and watches as the man loses his balance.

The surprised shout from the Riddler is a little unexpected, especially when he runs to the ledge to watch the Batman drop. Gotham's saviour doesn't _actually_ hit the ground but he comes damn close to it before he can readjust his cord.

The Joker, of course, knew this already.

"He doesn't die," the Joker explains, probably ruining the end to every battle the kid has to look forward to with the vigilant, "He _never_ dies. It's a universal truth."

The look the kid gives him is incredible, like he doesn't know whether the Joker's real or if he's just a figment of his imagination.

As if _he_ has the right to call anybody _crazy_...

"Why did you do that?" The Riddler finally asks.

The Joker wags his finger in the kid's face, "The real question here is—why didn't _you_ do that first?"

The boy opens his mouth to complain—but already they can hear the menacing hiss of the Bat's cord as he re-ascends. This really isn't the time or place.

"We've got the art," the Joker explains—and then jabs a finger at the kid's chest, "and you've got the heart. Let us have a shot at remedying that and we'll let you play your game."

"But—"

The Joker doesn't wait. He grabs the kid by the shoulder of his jacket and yanks him after him toward the other end of the roof. They've got enough speed to jump once they reach the end.

And they do.

Even if the Riddler is protesting.

A/N: Reference: "daisy toy" refers to the daisy air rifles cadets use. At one time (like, when my dad was a kid), boys could purchase them for hunting small game.

Anyhow, I really apologize for the delay (and for the shortness of my update). I just finished my last midterm on Monday and with a load of lab reports o do I just didn't want to distract myself from school. Sorry. It's going to be summer soon...(I hope).

On a side note, if you see anything that needs correcting, just tell me and I'll be more than happy to fix it.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry about the long hiatus. Finals ended in April but I was jumping around everywhere for a while. On a side note, I'm also posting this on LJ, so if you'd much rather just read it here I'll leave a link on my LJ account and stop posting it chapter by chapter there.

Title: In the Eye of the Hurricane – Chapter six  
Author: ladyofpride  
Characters: Joker, Scarecrow/Crane and the Riddler. Batman will be mentioned (and make appearances) as the story progresses, though he isn't the focus of the story.  
Rating: Pg-17 (if such a thing exists).  
Timeframe: follows after the second movie  
Warnings: violence, obvious insanity and the death of innocent (or not-so-innocent) bystanders...after all, this is about the Joker...  
Disclaimer: I'm not making a profit off of this—nor do I have the desire to either. I'm just playing in someone else's sandbox.  
Summary: It's true what they say. Sanity can only last so long...

They hit the ground running.

Sort of...

In reality,he lands in a messy summersault. Whatever the case, they make it across the alley in one flimsy jump, fortunate enough to land on a building that's roughly a storey shorter than the one before. There's dirt in his eyes and his right shoe is lying somewhere three feet behind him, but he's all in one piece and the Bat's still chasing them. That's all that matters—the chase, that is. Who better to have behind you than the Bat?

The Riddler, on the other hand, falls with an _oomph!_ and an ominous _snap!_

He wonders if the kid broke something vital but a quick look reveals the boy kneeling a little off to his left, fiddling with his cane as he tries to twist the handle off.

"You broke it," he mutters.

"You're welcome," he replies—because, really, what toy isn't fun when it's broken? Or maybe the Riddler wanted to break it himself, take it apart piece by piece and devise a new purpose for its existence. It already shoots tranqs and explosives. A sword would be neat. Or just a knife in the handle. Or a potato peeler...

His mind wanders for a moment as his hand slips into his coat pocket, closing around said peeler as the Riddler curses violently under his breath. Glancing over his shoulder, he spots the dark silhouette of the Bat standing on the edge of the last building, haloed faintly by the dismal glow of Gotham City. Streetlamps and city lights aren't enough to illuminate the sky, but the oily light is enough to smoulder the stars, a dull backdrop for the Batman's opening scene.

Cue the music.

Laying his free hand flat against the surface of the apartment's roof, he licks his lips and makes a small _psst_-ing noise to get the Riddler's attention. The kid pauses mid-twist, still fighting with the handle, and narrows his eyes at the Joker in obvious irritation.

"Follow my lead..." the Joker murmurs gleefully—just as the Bat spreads his wings, taking a small leap off the building before gliding toward the fallen villains. The Riddler's eyes shift to the descending shadow just as the Joker's hand curls around a fistful of pebbles and dirt.

The Batman knows he should take the Joker out first.

He feels honoured.

The joker scrambles to his feet—and cries out, ankle buckling under him before he tumbles back to his knees. His shoe is still lying somewhere on the ground and the Batman has given him a bit of distance, landing behind him rather than _on_ him now that he thinks he's injured. It's foolish, really. The instant the man lands, the Joker springs back to his feet and twirls around, tossing the filth at the Batman's eyes before the man can wind up a punch. Shoving his blind opponent back with a flimsy kick to the chest, the Joker dances forward and lashes out with his knife.

He wonders if the Bat bleeds like everybody else.

The hand on his arm comes as a surprise.

"_Stop it_!"

The Riddler's eyes aren't wide behind his domino mask but the Joker can see an awkward spark burning in the absence of his insanity. It's a moment of clarity.

God, what an awful thing...

The kid's bowler hat is missing and the wind ruffles his hair. It looks eerily red in Gotham's faint glow. Bloody, almost. The Joker supposes that that must be a sign—that it isn't too late to correct him just yet. All it'll take is a proverbial blow to the head, and the kid will be singing nursery rhymes with Crane before the week is through.

"Just run," the Riddler hisses, raising the cane menacingly above his hand before slamming it down squarely on the Batman's head. It makes a weird clanging noise as it connects with the protective metal but it's enough to disorientate Gotham's saviour long enough for the Joker to turn tail and run.

It feels a little funny with only one shoe.

He makes it to the fire escape and slips down the ladder. The other buildings are too tall for any more alley-jumping. He can see Cranes car idling in the dark below him, the driver side window rolled all the way down, and with a barking laugh the Joker draws the doctor's attention to the scene above.

The Joker keeps his eyes on the car as he races down the balconies and stairs. One tenant turns on her kitchen lights in pure curiosity and screams when he pauses to flash her a smile through the window.

"Don't stop," the Riddler mutters as nudges the Joker further. The fire escape rattles and groans, clanging against the brick wall as the Batman lands on the first balcony. "He's going to catch us."

"No, he won't."

"Just—"

There are two storeys left to go before they hit the final ladder—and the Joker can't help but make matters worse. Just as Crane pulls the car up the alleyway, situating himself below them, the Joker spins sharply on his heel and grabs the Riddler's cane.

"What comes down—" he begins, turning the base of the stick up as he plays with the handle "—usually dies when it hits rock bottom."

"It's broken!" the Riddler exclaims but his warning falls on deaf ears as a jet of smoke erupts from the bottom of his cane. Sure enough, it gives the Batman something to think about. It gives them all a hard time breathing but the Joker really doesn't care.

He grabs the kid's arm and yanks him over the railing before jumping after him. The Joker hits the car.

The kid hits the ground.

The Riddler tries to scream (he thinks) but it comes out as a choked cry instead. The smoke is thinner down here and that's just about the only reason he can make out Crane's figure in the darkness as he slips out of the car. The Joker hasn't broken anything (although the cane feels a little wobbly from where it's tucked under his right arm) but the pain's still there. He can feel it in his ribs.

"...You dented the roof."

The Joker laughs. "It's an improvement."

Crane makes a small humming noise in the back of his throat and wanders away for a moment, obscured by the mist. The fire escape groans as the Batman continues his descent, the sound overridden, briefly, by an agonizingly painful cry from the Riddler—which is followed shortly by an insistent _'let go of me!'_

He supposes their evening excursion counts as kidnapping now.

The media is going to _love_ it.

The Joker shoves himself up off the car, rolling to his feet as Crane returns with their injured ward. The kid struggles, faintly, but finds himself shoved into the back seat before he can wriggle out of his grip.

"Broken collarbone," Crane explains. And, yeah, that probably hurts like a— "Take the wheel, if you please."

The Joker runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, tracing the scars as he yanks open the driver side door and ducks inside the car. The cane gets tossed onto the passenger seat as Crane settles down in the back—the doctor barely has the time to slam his door shut before the Joker floors the gas.

The Batman drops down into the alleyway far behind them, a ghostly image in the mist.

"Well, doctor..." he begins, adjusting the rear-view mirror to examine their patient. The Riddler is sitting upright, trying to put as much distance as he can between Crane and himself. He cradles his left arm close to his body, the shoulder sagging a little under the material of his coat. Blood dribbles down his temple. "...what's your diagnosis?"

"Six or seven weeks in a figure-of-8 brace," the doctor muses excitedly, pretending to be oblivious to the mixed expression of fear and hatred he's getting from the Riddler. The kid would've looked intimidating if not for the sudden drain of colour from in face, the pain in his shoulder and chest probably overruling all other sensations for the time being. "But a sling should do the trick for now. At least until we can pen a hospital visit into our schedule..."

Leaning over, the Joker hits the glove-compartment with the side of his fist and the door pops open. Swerving through traffic, he runs a red light as he reaches for one of the tranquilizers Dr. Crane shoved in there before they jumped in the car for their night out on the town.

In the rear view mirror the Joker watches the Riddler shiver, eyes fluttering shut before they snap open again. The kid took quite a beating from the fall.

Gravity does that.

Crane leans forward to take the tranquilizer. Sitting back, he doesn't give the kid much of a chance to react as he jabs the needle into his throat, pinning the Riddler awkwardly under his arm until the kid slackens against the door. His struggle is short-lived as he succumbs to both the weight of his injuries and the opiate effect of the weak sedative. The Joker focuses on the dark, narrow-eyed glare he receives as the kid checks him out in the reflection of the mirror, consciousness slipping as Crane tugs him into a better position.

He foresees permanent emotional damage in the near future.

The Joker watches him pass out and runs a hand through his hair, pulling the long greasy strands out of his eyes as he swerves to avoid hitting a motorcycle. The bike nearly topples over when he cuts in front of it, the driver slowing steadily when the wail of a police cruiser howls to life somewhere behind them.

They jump from 60mph to 110mph in a heartbeat, the car's frame rattling as he weaves in and out of traffic. The cruiser chases him until it hits a little red smart car fifteen blocks away from their makeshift head quarters.

Hallelujah for the Fuzz.

-1-Joker-1-

At three in the morning, no one really cares what happens outside their door. Every neighbourhood in Gotham is a tough one—it's why regular people don't usually report gunshots unless they hear a return fire. Leave the messy discoveries and gruesome reports to a poor, unsuspecting passerby or an on-duty cop. _No one_ wants to get caught in the middle of someone else's fight.

Which makes dragging the Riddler up the fire escape easier than stealing candy from a baby.

The kid's in terrible shape but he soldiers on, glancing wildly around him in the few, brief moments of clarity that hit him at odd intervals during the trip home. Crane hefts him through the balcony door into the dead guy's apartment and waits for the Joker to follow before they haul him into the bedroom. When they lay him out across the bed, he looks ready to die.

"_You_ can be the doctor," the Joker muses aloud, handing Crane one of his knives to use on the Riddler's jacket. He cuts the sleeve in a long clean swipe and removes the offending article. The kid's shirt follows shortly after. "_I'll_ be the nurse."

Crane hums quietly in the back of his throat, his mind working on automatic as he goes about mending their guest. Gentle but cold; clinical and emotionless—like a man working with glass. He treats the Riddler as though he were a fragile artefact, well worth the _care_ but not the compassion. The Joker can see it in the way he moves, fluid and precise, doing what's best for the young man's body despite the pain he's in.

"I need a moment," Crane says over his shoulder, just as his pale-faced patient shoots him a glare through the sedative's waning mist. "Find the linen closet and grab a few sheets. I'll need them for the slings."

The Joker leaves the doctor to his business, listening to the Riddler's muffled cries through the bedroom door as he tears a sheet to shreds. The doctor leaves briefly to grab his needles and drugs before disappearing into the room again. After knocking the kid up with his own special concoction of painkillers, Crane throws the door open and takes the Joker's handiwork to use for his slings.

"Concussed?" the Joker asks eagerly, later, after everything's been said a done. The kid is bandaged and quiet, his left arm wrapped tightly against the side of his body where he lies, propped up, against the pillows. He's still pale and dazed, looking hollow and shattered under the influence of Crane's remedy, eyes half-focused on the ceiling as he ventures dizzily through the world inside his head...

"Yes. You'll have to wake him every hour to make sure it's nothing permanent."

...And isn't that just like Christmas in July? How often do you get to be someone's own personal hell for 48 hours straight?

Crane makes a call and throws on a jacket over his borrowed clothes. The Joker busies himself in the bedroom, rummaging through the Riddler's things until he finds the kid's gloves—and by then Crane has mysteriously disappeared. No doubt to terrorize another unsuspecting pharmacy or raid one of Gotham's _pristine_ hospitals...

Dr. John Wayne might've revolutionized healthcare in the few, short, _sweet_ years of his life but there was really nothing Gotham's richest family could've done to halt its steady descent into oblivion. Hell is only a jump away.

His hands are a little bigger than the kid's but the gloves fit—and isn't that food for thought? Part of him wonders what will happen if the Riddler wakes to find a smile carved into his face but he knows the kid is already smiling somewhere on the inside. It's the part of him that's constantly tempted to goad Gotham's Knight into solving his riddles.

And exactly what kind of _criminal_ wants to get caught?

"Therapy starts tonight," he says—right after slapping the kid on the knee. The Riddler jerks awake and studies him carefully through half-lidded eyes. "Don't worry, I know what all the professionals like to say. I've heard it all."

The Riddler doesn't say anything. His eyes drift lower before he closes them again.

Until the Joker gives him a second slap.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he takes up the Riddler's right hand and pats it affectionately as he tries to remember what Dr. what's-her-face usually says at the beginning of her rambles...

"Forty-eight hour watch," he explains when the kid tries (painfully) to squirm out of his hold. "No rest for the wicked—doctor's orders."

But the kid continues to struggle and it's a least a little admirable for the fly in the spider's web. The Riddler's playing ball in a whole new field now. All bets are locked.

The Joker's going to teach him how to burn his bridges.

"I think we'll start with the whole _'riddle'_ scheme..." Digging a finger into one of the kid's pressure points, the one between his index finger and his thumb, the Joker waits until the Riddler stops struggling before he eases off. "I think you have an odd fixation with telling the truth."

The Riddler gives him an honest look just then.

It's a clue.

The Joker laughs. "Don't tell me—I want to _guess_."

Because, really, he has months to figure it out.

The Riddler isn't going anywhere.

AN: Sorry, I know it's short but I'm leaving for Chicago tomorrow and I'm going to be gone for two weeks.

BTW, if you think posting this only here is a good idea, just leave me a note.

;) Thanks for reading.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Wow, it's been a while...I apologize.

As a side note—since I love making references to both the comics and the television shows, you might find a few in the following chapters. I'll point them out at the bottom of each chapter.

Title: In the Eye of the Hurricane – Chapter seven  
Author: ladyofpride  
Characters: Joker, Scarecrow/Crane and the Riddler. Batman will be mentioned (and make appearances) as the story progresses, though he isn't the focus of the story.  
Rating: Pg-17 (if such a thing exists).  
Timeframe: follows after the second movie  
Warnings: violence, obvious insanity and the death of innocent (or not-so-innocent) bystanders...after all, this is about the Joker...  
Disclaimer: I'm not making a profit off of this—nor do I have the desire to either. I'm just playing in someone else's sandbox.  
Summary: It's true what they say. Sanity can only last so long...

The Riddler shivers every once in a while in the company of his fevered delusions, cold with sweat and shifting uncomfortably as his mind races between reality and dream. He's trapped somewhere on the border, twitching away from the lurid provinces of his mind as the Joker prods him solidly in the knee periodically. The Joker wakes him on the hour. And then every half hour.

Just for good measure.

"Blame the brain damage," the Joker says when the Riddler tosses him a glare.

After the drugs begin to wane and the Riddler's had a chance to pull the fractured pieces of his psyche back together again, he stretches awkwardly on the sheets and nudges his abused leg out of poking range.

"Leave me the hell alone..."

"Humor me."

"I'll need stronger drugs for that..." His eyes scan the bedside table where the bottle of painkillers once stood, his body stiff as he tries not to move his torso.

The Joker stole it when the Riddler drifted off.

"Where did you put them?"

The Joker jolts back in mock surprise and feigns an innocent smile. "Put what? I have knives—" he replies, lifting the left corner of his lapel to show the potato peeler tucked inside his breast pocket. "You could search me but you might find me a little _prickly_, I—"

"_Forget_ I ever asked," the Riddler interjects, making the words sound short and clipped. He sighs a bit. Sounds as though he's a little on edge. "And _leave_, please. You obviously know I'm not going anywhere."

He's right...

The Joker smiles.

"Tell me a riddle first."

The Riddler sighs again, settling back into the pillow as best he can. He's doing remarkably well considering a fractured collarbone and a concussion. "How about I make a deal with you?"

"That all depends on the _deal_, sweetheart."

"It'll be a riddle, of course. I'll give you one and you'll leave the room until you can come up with an answer."

"And if I'm wrong?"

The Riddler smiles—a little curl of the lips that looks more menacing than it ought to be. "If you were _polite_, you'd let me beat you with my cane, but let's be honest...if you're _wrong_, you'll leave to my peace until the doctor returns."

"That's, uh..._swell_, kid, but the doc says I have to keep an eye on you." He licks his lips, breath coming out in short, excited pants as he leans in close to the Riddler's ear. "And if I'm right..." he murmurs, slipping the glove off his right hand to trace the faint scar that runs diagonally across the kid's good collarbone—one he only noticed an hour or so ago, "you'll tell me all about these beautiful scars. _Deal_?"

The Riddler hesitates. Doesn't say anything for a moment. The Joker ghosts his hand across his chest to the other collarbone and then down a little just below the damage. The man's body stiffens.

He hisses in pain between his teeth.

The Joker can feel his heart hammering against his ribcage. Loses himself in the rhythm...

Then: "...Only one colour, but not one size; stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in sun, but not in rain; doing no harm and feeling no pain..._What am I_?" (1)

He leans back, grinning again. When he leaves the room, he feels surprisingly satisfied.

Closing the door partway, he wanders into the kitchen and cranks up the radio.

-1-Joker-1-

"—_She says 'stop' when it's time for me to go. She says 'go' when I say I love her so—Oh yeah, yeah, yeah...Oh yeah, yeah, the trouble with love—you've got me so mixed up, I don't know what I'm doin'—"_

He hears a thump from the bedroom...and maybe a shout. The Joker isn't sure. He's too caught up in the music to care. Playing ignorant, he turns the dial a little farther to right despite his weary audience.

"—_that's the trouble with love!"_ (2)

The second thump comes from the front door.

He takes one last glance into the kitchen shelf before he closes the drawer. The previous owner didn't have much in the way of volatile chemicals and he doesn't suppose Crane would be merry with the idea of him fooling around with his drugs—all the same, he needs something with which to entertain himself. The Riddler's a bit too _fragile_ at the moment for anything he has in mind.

Somehow, he's not surprised when he doesn't find the doctor alone.

"Is it poker night already?" he asks, opening the front door a little farther as he eyes the two thugs behind Crane. One is stick thin and twitchy (he's wearing his orange Arkham jumpsuit under a ridiculously large overcoat) and the other could probably kill an elephant with his bare hand if he wanted to. The man towers over Crane like a totem pole, his face a mess of scars and stitches...

The Joker likes this one.

"Old chums," Crane says absently as he brushes past him into the apartment, a sack of goodies thrown over his shoulder. Strolling into the kitchen, he drops the bag on the table and reaches inside to pull out what the Joker supposes is a figure-of-eight brace.

"You any good with riddles, Dr. Goodfellow?"

Crane quirks an eyebrow at the peculiar name and glances briefly at the radio. "I imagine you forced our guest to entertain you while I was gone...?"

The Joker reaches into his pocket and pulls out the napkin he wrote the riddle on, the words sharp at some points and blotchy at others where he penned them on the thin material. Crane glances at it, does another eyebrow trick and wanders off into the living room.

Stickman and Lurch ebb into the apartment after the good doctor, eyeing the Joker warily as he rummages through the various bottles in Crane's santa sack. When Lurch lingers in the doorway, the Joker opens his mouth to ask him who stitched up the worst of his pockmarks.

He's interrupted by the return of Crane.

"You'll find your answer on the balcony," he says smartly, reaching for the radio dial—

"Uh_-_uh! _Shhh_..." the Joker whispers, slapping his hand away, "I'm playing a game with Riddles."

"And the radio...?"

"Here—" He grabs a couple of bottles and shoves them into Crane's hands. The man eyes him suspiciously, but doesn't make a move to stop him. "—play with these. Keep the goonies quiet until I get back."

With an oddly professional sounding sigh, Crane humours him and lines the bottles up on the table, reaching into the bag to pull out a new batch of needles as the Joker darts into the living room. Staring through the glass door that separates him from the balcony, he squints his eyes in the mid-afternoon light and finds...

"A barbeque?" he asks dryly. When he turns to face Crane, the man shakes his head and gives him a look that says, _'try again'_.

And he so tries again...

...And then he gets it.

He skips across the living room to the bedroom with an extra _spring_ in his step and opens the door quietly. It closes behind him with a gentle click—the Riddler's wary eyes shift immediately to him.

The lamp that once stood on the bedside table is now lying on the floor and the alarm clock is flashing its red numbers coyly at him from where it sits beside it. And the Joker _could_ be wrong, but he'd _swear_ the Riddler's moved an inch or so closer to the edge of the bed.

He supposes Crane's muscle relaxant is really the only thing keeping the kid in their good company.

It's a pity.

"Must have been one heck of a party in here..." he muses aloud. Walking over to the side of the bed, he leans down to pick up the lamp and the clock before placing them back on the table. He eventually abandons the lamp shade on the floor after it falls off twice. "Some house guest _you_ are, Riddles. Oh, and before I forget..._shadows_."

"Took you long enough," he mutters sardonically. "Next time, I'll ask you what's black and white and red all over..."

"No one likes a smart ass."

"You know, I've never heard of a clown that couldn't take a joke."

The Joker waves his hand dismissively and stretches himself out across the bed beside the Riddler. The man's jaw stiffens when he starts tracing the old scar again. "So, tell me a _story_."

"...Once upon a time, there was an ugly duckling—"

The Joker slaps him gently on the cheek and rolls over onto his back. "Not _that_ story."

"You should be more specific."

"You're alarming coherent for one of Crane's patients..." The Joker steeples his fingers over his chest and crosses his ankles. "So, about all those little nicks and _scratches_..."

A weary sigh.

Then silence.

"...Are those my gloves?"

The Joker glances down at his hands and wriggles his fingers. Shifting a little to get comfortable, he glances at the ceiling and notices that part of the stucco looks like a horse's head. "Uh-uh—my question first."

"My father beat me as a child—now, _are_ _those_ or are those _not_ my gloves?"

"They're yours," he admits, and turns his head to give the kid a curious look. "...Your father _beat_ you. Where are the waterworks?"

The Riddler rolls his eyes. He looks oddly rigid doing. "As much as I hate the man, his method of parenting is hardly something to cry over."

"What'd he do?" he asks, eyeing another faint scar below the Riddler's ear. "Whip you?"

"He preferred his fists."

"Big guy?"

"He had a thing for sports."

The Joker has to laugh at that—not the answer, of course, but the kid's wit. Most people tend to lose their tongues when they find themselves trapped in a colloquy with him. His relationship with Crane is silent for the most part and his banters with the Bat tend to be one-sided. The Riddler seems to be an entirely different breed of man.

"What's your excuse?"

"Huh?" The Joker blinks.

"The _smile_." The Riddler elaborates—and either the drugs have lowered his inhibitions or the guy doesn't know what happens to people that hear the Joker's story. That was just an _invitation_ for disaster.

"You want to know how I got 'em?" he asks. His finger's itch for a blade. _Any_ blade. He's never had an introduction to the tale like this before. It's _enticing_. "You see, I had an older brother once. Worked for the _mob_. He did the dirty wo—"

"No."

The Joker pauses.

It feels like a slap to the face.

"No..." he says again, and this time it has something of an _edge_ to it. When the Joker turns to look at him, he finds the Riddler's eyes focused on the ceiling, the corner of his mouth curled up in a grimace. "That's a lie."

"I wasn't _finished_," he growls—but props to the kid for getting it right.

He turns his body onto his side and leans over the Riddler, and he's so damn _close_ to putting a little pressure on his collarbone... He _wants_ to, but that gleam is back in the kid's eye, the maniacal one—a little window to the chink in his sanity. It's what the Joker was looking for earlier.

It's a wonder a lie can do.

"_Out_."

Crane's voice cuts through the tension like a surgical knife. The command is soft, but _cold_, just like everything else about the doctor as he leads Lurch fluidly into the room. The Joker can see he's working on automatic again as he slips on a pair of rubber gloves. Lurch is carrying a bottle and a needle.

They crowd the Riddler like vultures circling for meat.

The Joker's willing to leave them alone to stew in their madness.

"I'm not an avid fan of _dishonesty_," the Riddler hisses as the Joker leans into him (_purposefully_) before slipping off the bed. The Joker pretends he isn't listening, but he takes his time walking to the door. "Would I be wrong in assuming that the worst of those scars were self-inflicted?"

The Joker spins so sharply on his heel, he almost loses balance. But Crane is a swift man and he's already standing in the way before the Joker can figure out what he wants to do now that the cat's out of the bag. It's not as though he's _ashamed_ of his face, but he knows where the danger lies in a man that never misses a trick—and what exactly did the Riddler do to attract the Bat's attention? What _diabolical_ plan had he concocted that Gotham's Police Department couldn't handle by themselves...?

He settles for flashing the Riddler a smile over Crane's shoulder before he strolls out of the room. He'd be angry if he hadn't just figured something out.

The kid obviously has no clue what he's gotten himself into.

The Bat would agree...

A/N: (1) The riddle comes from "meanriddles. com". They've got a couple of good ones there and they're rated according to difficulty.

(2) The song playing on the radio is called _"That's the Trouble with Love"_, which was sung by Frank Gorshin, the Emmy nominated actor who played the Riddler in the 1960s television show (he's also the man that escalated the Riddler's popularity from a minor villain to a full-blown, maniacal, Gotham Rogue). I'm currently trying to find out who wrote the song and I believe it was Bering Strait...if I'm wrong, feel free to correct me. ;)

P.S. You can find the song on youtube

P.P.S. All comments, questions and concerns are welcome. Especially if they're related to grammar. I think I need a beta...


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